


Don't Be Hasty

by three_miles



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Age Difference, Anal Play, Dirty Talk, F/M, Older Woman/Younger Man, Oral Sex, Phone Sex, Sex Toys, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-07-09
Updated: 2012-11-17
Packaged: 2017-11-18 14:53:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/562280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/three_miles/pseuds/three_miles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry’s stodgy male real estate agent is sick, and he’s crushing hard on the foxy thirty-something substitute. Will she succumb to the Styles charm?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Harry scrunches his face up, tousles his hair, and sniffs.  
  
“You aren’t Charles,” he drawls, taking in the thirty-something woman waiting for him in front of the real estate office. She’s tall--her heels make her an inch or two taller than Harry--with blonde hair pulled into a tight bun at the top of her head. She’s wearing a posh, well-tailored suit; it’s conservative, but Harry’s eyes still find her curves.  
  
Definitely not Charles.  
  
“Clever boy,” she mutters, before forcing a smile. “Charles is poorly, and sends his regrets. I’m his associate, and he’s asked me to accompany you to the showings we’ve arranged today.”  
  
“Hope he’s not too ill,” Harry says, reaching for her hand. “I’m Harry Styles.”  
  
“Phil Foster.” Her handshake is firm, solid, but her palm is soft in Harry’s. “Shall we?” she asks, pulling her hand away before Harry is quite ready to let her go.  
  
“Phil?” he asks, as she leads him out to the parking lot.  
  
“Short for Philippa, but no one calls me that,” she says, a stern warning in her tone. She walks two steps ahead of him, doesn’t even blink when he holds the door for her, and seems generally ambivalent about his presence.  
  
Harry isn’t used to being treated this way; he’s used to the screaming, intrusive attention from fans, or the (only slightly more restrained) flirtation from older women. He likes the surprise, finds it amusing--and maybe somewhat challenging--that the only woman who’s piqued his interest in weeks doesn’t seem to care that he’s Harry Styles, Pop Star.  
  


* * *

  
  
In the car, Phil starts in with a description of the first home they’re going to see. She guides her car through London, passing neighbourhoods Harry  _used_  to think of as posh, and he marvels again at how fortunate he is.  
  
“It has a lovely garden, high walls for privacy and room for a security checkpoint inside the front gate,” she says.  
  
“Where are you from?” Harry interrupts, fiddling with the satellite radio controls on her dash.  
  
Phil pauses and sighs before answering his question. “Leeds.”  
  
“Really?” Harry perks up. “I went to Leeds festival last year, it was amazing. Have you been?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Oh... right then. Busy with work?”  
  
“Quite,” she says, turning into a short drive. She rolls down her window, reaches out, and punches a code into a small box tucked into the hedge. “You’ll want to notice the fountain in the front, as well as the arches...”  
  


xoxoxo

  
  
Harry decides the first place is nice, but a bit stuffy for his taste.  
  
The second is a bit further away from the center of the city. They have about a twenty minute drive ahead of them, and Harry punches buttons on the radio again until he finds a station playing one of Ed’s songs.  
  
“This is my favorite,” he says. “Are you a fan of Ed Sheeran?”  
  
“Sure,” she says, grip tightening on the steering wheel.  
  
“Really?” Harry’s excited now--he’s found something they have in common. “He’s amazing, a really good mate as well.”  
  
He thinks--he’s not sure, but he thinks she rolls her eyes at that, and he winces a bit. Okay, she’s not keen on talking about music, or his famous friends. He racks his brain for something else they could have in common.  
  
“This is a nice car. It’s a BMW?”  
  
“It’s a company car,” she says with a small shrug of her shoulders.  
  
Harry bites his lip and pushes his fringe away from his face. “Well... the company has good taste,” he says, for lack of anything else.  
  
They’re both silent for the rest of the trip.  
  


* * *

  
“This is cool, much more what I’m looking for,” Harry says, trailing his fingers along a granite countertop. “It’s just so far from everything.”  
  
“There are benefits to that, you know. Fewer people around. Some peace and quiet.”  
  
“I think I’m a bit young for peace and quiet,” Harry says, grinning. Phil cracks a smile, too, and Harry has to stop himself from jumping for joy. “Bit hard to stumble home from the club when you’re this far away.”  
  
“Doing a lot of stumbling these days?” she asks.  
  
“Only occasionally, Pippa,” he jokes, daring to step a little closer.  
  
Except her smile is gone, replaced with a sour look. She crosses her arms over her chest and snaps, “Don’t call me that. I hate that name. It’s Phil, or Ms. Foster, if you must.”  
  
Harry should be chastened by her angry tone, but instead he’s encouraged; at least he’s getting some sort of reaction out of her now. He raises an eyebrow and asks, “So it isn’t  _Mrs._  Foster, then?”  
  
Phil rolls her eyes exaggeratedly and spins on her heel, turning to lead Harry back to the front door. “Come along. We have another appointment at four.”  
  


* * *

  
  
Harry plays DJ again as they head back down the highway. He’s flipping through the stations, listening to each for a few seconds before moving on.  
  
He jumps a little when Phil reaches out suddenly, wraps her fingers around his wrist and stops him.  
  
“I like this song,” she says.  
  
“It sounds cool,” Harry says, after a few seconds. After a minute he’s sure he likes it enough to pull out his phone and buy the album from iTunes. He texts the name of the band to Nick and gets a reply back right away.  
  
 _Yeah, mate. They’re up and coming. Very cool._  
  
It really shouldn’t matter that she knows about this band before Harry does, but it makes him like her even more.  
  
The next song is one he used to cover with his band in high school. He can’t stop himself from singing along with the chorus, but he’s surprised when she doesn’t object.  
  
“Bit more rock ‘n roll than your current stuff,” she says, as the song comes to a close.  
  
Harry turns in his seat, surprised to hear her acknowledge his music. “It is. Wait ‘til you hear the new album, though. More of this, less “na na na.”  
  
“Do you miss it? Singing songs like this?”  
  
“Sometimes,” Harry admits. Sometimes he fantasises about leather pants, screaming guitars, and a stage all to himself. He knows that he’s beyond lucky to have the career that he does, though, so he never complains. He’s happy to make music with his friends for now, whatever form it takes.  
  


* * *

  
  
The last house is perfect.  
  
“It’s exactly what I pictured,” Harry says, moving through the space. It’s empty, just been on the market for a few days. Phil explains that it hasn’t been “staged” yet, so there’s no furniture, but Harry doesn’t need it to realise the potential of this house.  
  
It’s spacious, but has a much cosier feel than most of the other places he’s seen. He can see himself  _living_  here, see his mates sprawled out on couches, his mum cooking in the bright, cheerful kitchen when she comes to visit.  
  
Most importantly, he just feels happy here.  
  
“I just love it,” he says, breathless as he races from room to room for the fifth time. Phil seems happy, too, smiling on as Harry explores.  
  
“It’s cool, right?” he asks her, pausing in front of her in the great, empty living room. He slips a bit on the hardwood floor, and she reaches out to steady him.  
  
“Very cool. I think you’ll be happy here.”  
  
“It’s chill. Very laid-back.”  
  
“Right, but you could still throw a wicked party,” she says, a grin spreading over her face.  
  
“Oh, I knew I liked you, Phil,” Harry laughs, sweeping her into his arms. She’s stiff at first, but lets him lead her in a little waltz around the room. He lifts her off her feet and spins in circles until they’re both laughing and dizzy.  
  


* * *

  
  
Harry is getting a bit desperate on the drive back to Phil’s office. Their moment of breathless fun was over almost before it began; Phil wiggled out of his arms, straightened her jacket, and started talking to him about paperwork.  
  
He wants to get that moment back, but he’s at a loss. He discards every chat-up line that comes to mind, tosses out the idea of dragging out the housing search--after all, if he wants to see more houses he’ll be stuck with Charles again.  
  
Absently, he’s changing the radio stations again, more out of habit than anything. He can’t find anything he likes, and his finger drifts for the first time to the CD button. Curious as to what this straight-laced indie-music-loving woman would be listening to, he presses play.  
  
“What are you--” she says, batting his hand away and trying to switch hurriedly back to the radio.  
  
But it’s too late, because Harry’s already heard it--the opening notes to I Want.  
  
He chuckles, at first, reaches for her hand and moves it firmly to the seat between them. She’s bright red, embarrassed, but he thinks it’s fantastic. The more he thinks about it--that she’s had this CD in her car all day, that she’s obviously listened to most of it at least once--the funnier it is.  
  
Eventually she laughs, too, even though her cheeks are still quite red. Harry sings along with the chorus a bit, and her jaw drops.  
  
“Sing with me,” he says, nudging her as she turns down a familiar street.  
  
“Yeah, right,” she snorts. “I hardly know the words.”  
  
“Come on, sing a little,” Harry urges. “ _I want, I want, I want... but that’s crazy..._ ”  
  
“Oh, Jesus,” Phil murmurs, but she has a smile on her face.  
  
“ _I want, I want, I want... but that’s not me... I want, I want, I want to be loved by you!_ ” He belts out the ending, finishing the song with a flourish. She switches off the radio as they pull into the parking lot of her real estate office, and claps for him after she puts the car in park.  
  
“Lovely, Mr. Styles,” she says. “I’m the envy of teenage girls the world over.”  
  
Harry is enchanted by her smile, the way her eyes crinkle when she laughs. He’s not ready to let her go.  
  
“Have dinner with me,” he asks, reaching for her hand. “Please.”  
  
Her hand seems to be trembling just a little, and he cups it in both of his and holds it firmly. She stammers a bit, and Harry bites his lip as he waits for her answer.  
  
“I could cook? My place is just round the corner.”  
  
Harry grins at her offer. She wants to take him home.  
  
“Excellent. Sounds amazing. What can you cook?”  
  
“Does it matter?” she breathes, her eyes locked on Harry’s. Somehow he’s gone from predator to prey in a matter of seconds, and he’s not the least bit upset about that development.  
  
“No,” he says, reaching for her hand after she puts the car back into gear. “I’m up for anything.”  
  


* * *

  
  
She lives in a huge, airy loft in an old building. Harry stands in the middle of it taking in the breathtaking view while Phil moves around putting the lights on.  
  
“Make yourself at home,” she offers, unbuttoning her jacket. She kicks her black pumps off and leaves them by the door, then sheds her jacket as she walks to her small kitchen. Harry gasps as it slides over her shoulders, revealing just a thin, sleeveless top underneath; her right arm is covered in swirls of ink down to her wrist, and he can see a hint of more tattoos through the white of her blouse.  
  
She pauses at the kitchen counter to fiddle with an iPod in a stereo dock, and the room fills with scratchy, sexy Motown music.  
  
“Oh, I think we’re going to get along just fine,” Harry says, toeing off his Converse before following her to the kitchen. She’s standing in front of the refrigerator, peering at the contents with a furrow in her brow.  
  
“Hmmm... well, I have beer, champagne, a bit of cheese, and a leftover takeaway that is probably quite disgusting at this point,” she says, bending low to open the drawers, only to find them empty too.  
  
“I’m not too hungry,” Harry says, stepping right up behind her. He wraps his large hands around her waist and pulls her flush against his hips. She straightens up, a bit startled, but relaxes when Harry brushes his lips over her neck.  
  
“Maybe there’s something in the freezer,” she mumbles, pushing the refrigerator door closed. She opens the freezer side and scans the shelves--just as empty as the fridge. The cold air makes a nice contrast to the heat of Harry’s lithe body pressed against her back, and she stands with the door open for a beat too long.  
  
“Bit cold, isn’t it?” Harry asks, smoothing his hands up over her stomach to cup her breasts. His thumbs slip over her hard nipples, feeling the texture of her lace bra through her shirt.  
  
She closes the door reluctantly and spins in Harry’s arms. He kisses her neck again, nipping and licking and sucking at it, and she’s struggling to stay upright. “I could... um, I could order a pizza?”  
  
“Maybe later,” Harry says, nibbling her earlobe. “Maybe now you could show me your bedroom.”  
  
“Or you could just fuck me in the kitchen,” she says, gathering her wits again. She combs her fingers through Harry’s curls and tugs, forcing him to tilt his head back. His Adam’s apple is just so fucking inviting that she can’t stop herself from licking a wet path up his throat, pausing to suck at the little bump.  
  
Harry whimpers.  
  
“Do you have condoms in your kitchen?” he asks, pushing his hand down the back of her trousers, cupping her lace-covered arse cheek in his hand. The last girl he was with--a model someone from the label set up him with--was all skin and bones, barely anything to touch. This girl--this woman--has curves. Not a stick thin girl with big fake tits, but real, soft, fleshy curves that he can squeeze and kiss and and fuck. He’s rock hard already and they aren’t even naked.  
  
“Shit. No,” she says, digging her fingers into the waistband of his jeans. She undoes the button with one hand, then tugs at the zip. “Bedroom. Come on. You can fuck me in the kitchen later.”  
  
“Brilliant.”  
  


* * *

  
  
Harry won’t stop kissing her neck, which is making it difficult to take her top off.  
  
She has to shove him away a bit and tug it off and over her head quickly before he attaches himself again.  
  
This time, though, he starts at her neck and kisses down over her shoulder blades, stopping to trace the words inked at the center of her back.  
  
“I have a star, too,” he says, kissing the smattering of stars just below the words.  
  
“Mmm,” she hums. “Do you know what song that’s from?”  
  
Her tone is teasing, like he’s too young to know it.  
  
“The stars are the greatest thing I’ve ever seen and they’re there for you,” he croons. “Love it.”  
  
“Fuck,” she breathes.  
  
“If you insist,” he says, kissing back up to her neck. She cranes her neck to kiss him properly, her soft, pink lips moulding perfectly to his. His hands don’t stop moving as they kiss, tickling her back, her sides, and her stomach as she relaxes into his touch.  
  
“Why are you wearing clothes?” she asks, suddenly pulling away.  
  
“I have no idea,” Harry says, shaking his head as though he’s ashamed. She tugs at his t-shirt to encourage him, and he takes over, stripping off completely in a matter of seconds. She shimmies out of her pants, tosses them over a chair, and takes her bra off just as Harry’s reaching for her again.  
  
“Oh, that’s my favourite bit,” he complains.  
  
“Taking it off?” she asks, amused.  
  
“Mmmhmm,” he nods, bending to kiss the tops of her breasts.  
  
“Want me to put it back on?”  
  
“No,” Harry says, not looking up. He cups her breasts, pushes them together, buries his face between them and moans. Phil strokes his neck and his shoulders, shuddering under his attentions.  
  
“Feels good,” she murmurs.  
  
“You have fantastic tits,” he says, switching from one nipple to the other. “Fucking ace.”  
  
She can’t help but laugh at that, and pushes at his shoulder gently to get him to straighten up. His eyes are so bright, his smile so wide, that she can’t help but mirror his excitement. “Think I need to get you into bed, loverboy,” she says, reaching up to pull the pins out of her hair.  
  
“Oi, let me,” Harry says, pushing her hands back down to her sides. He pulls a little hairgrip loose and then looks at her expectantly.  
  
“Do you need to like, shake it out?” he asks.  
  
“Only in films do women have complicated hairstyles held up by one little clip,” she teases. “There are about twenty more.”  
  
Harry tries to help, feeling round her scalp for more pins, but she has to slap him away before he makes the situation worse. “Bed,” she directs him, pointing. He jumps onto her mattress and scoots back against the headboard.  
  
“You’re so sexy,” he says, watching as she pulls the rest of the pins from her hair. “Love your body. Your arse is fantastic.”  
  
“Bit bigger than it was when I was your age,” she says, looking at herself in the full-length mirror opposite her bed.  
  
“Thank God,” Harry growls, stroking his cock unabashedly. “It’s perfect. Get over here.”  
  
She crawls up the bed from the bottom, scooting up over his legs, and settles over his thighs. “Last one,” she says, holding her hair up with her left hand. “Go ahead.”  
  
He grins and plucks the last pin from her hair, and she gasps dramatically and tosses her head about, letting her long hair fall over her shoulders.  
  
Harry hasn’t laughed this hard--or been this turned on--in a while.  
  
“That’s what I like to see,” he says, pulling her close for another kiss. He tangles his fingers in her hair as she scoots closer and grinds down against his cock.  
  
When they pull away, gasping for breath, she reaches down between them to wrap her fingers around Harry’s cock. “Mmm. That’s quite big, isn’t it? This is going to be fun.”  
  
“You have no idea,” Harry teases. He kisses her again, then lifts her and tosses her on to the other side of the bed. Phil squeals, then moans as Harry crawls over her, his heavy cock dragging against her thigh.  
  
“You ready to fuck me with that big cock?” she asks, reaching blindly for the little jewelry box on her bedside table that houses her condom selection.  
  
“Not quite,” Harry murmurs, kissing down her chest. He stops to tease her nipples again, then continues down over her stomach, leaving a wet, meandering trail down her body. “How do you still have knickers on!?”  
  
She giggles as he tugs them off roughly, tossing them over the edge of the bed with disdain. He pushes her thighs apart and settles between them, a hungry look in his eye.  
  
“Gorgeous,” he says, ducking his head down to lick at her tentatively. “God, I could just go crazy licking you right now. Love your pussy.”  
  
“Stop talking about it and do it, then,” she challenges him, and Harry wiggles his eyebrows in excitement.  
  
“You asked for it,” he warns, before burying himself between her thighs. She giggles at first, half expecting him to stop and write the whole thing off as a joke, but she quickly finds out that Harry Styles is dead serious about cunnilingus.  
  
“Harry--oh!” she cries, laying a steadying hand on his shoulder when he’s a little too rough. He slows his pace a little, but nothing can stop him from kissing and licking at every inch of her. He takes his cues from her moans, from the way she twitches and squirms and bucks up against him, and his cock throbs against her leg the entire time.  
  
“So close,” she warns him, winding her fingers into his curls.  
  
“Gonna come, yeah?” he mumbles, his voice muffled but the meaning clear. “Want my fingers, babe?”  
  
“Yeah, God. Fuck me. Fuck, Harry, just like that. Exactly... oh, fuck, don’t stop,” she gasps, her legs shaking and her toes curling as she comes, rocking up against Harry’s face.  
  
He licks at her enthusiastically all the way through her orgasm, until she’s sensitive and twitchy and tries to push him away.  
  
“More,” he says, curling his fingers inside as he licks at her clit, gentler but still in a steady rhythm. “Bet you can come again, babe.”  
  
“Yeah,” she says, writhing underneath him. “Bet you can make me come again.”  
  
He keeps the motion of his tongue simple, and adds a third finger to the two already fucking her. Slowly, tentatively, he starts to rub at her perineum with one slick finger, then two, just stroking her there gently. He’s not sure if he needs to ask, or if it’s something she’d want, but he--  
  
“Fuck, Harry, just put your fucking finger in my arse. Stop teasing,” she begs.  
  
This is exactly what Harry loves about older women.  
  
He works a finger into her arse, slowly and carefully, and her fingers tighten in his hair.  
  
“Harder... fuck. Gonna come so hard, Harry,” she says--not begging or commanding, just telling him exactly what she needs. He does just ask she asks, working his fingers in and out of her as he licks her clit with more pressure, and it only takes a minute before she screams out his name.  
  
This time it’s too fucking much, and she pushes him away as she comes down from her high.  
  
When she finally gets her breath and the world starts to make some kind of sense again, she looks down at the smug pop star between her legs.  
  
“How was that?” he asks casually, kissing her belly and stroking her hip gently.  
  
“Bloody amazing,” she says. She reaches behind her, knocks the lid off her jewelry box, and grabs the first condom she feels. “Here, put this on, love. As soon as my legs start working again I’m going to fuck you senseless.”  
  
“Excellent,” Harry says, ripping the packet open joyfully.  
  
She rolls to her side and watches Harry smooth the condom over his cock, stroking it a few times and groaning at the touch. She reaches over and cups his balls, rolls them gently between her fingers as he squeezes the head of his prick. It’s nice, a bit of a quiet moment, and she leans in to his side so she can kiss his shoulder.  
  
“How do you want me, love,” she asks, ducking her head to scrape her teeth across his nipple. “On top? From behind? Gentleman’s choice.”  
  
“On top, please,” he says, so polite as he asks to be fucked.  
  
“Like to watch, do you?” she asks as she sits up, straddles Harry and positions herself over his straining cock.  
  
“Mmmm,” he says, eyelids fluttering as she sinks down onto him for the first time. “Fuck!”  
  
“Jesus God, you’re a big boy,” she says, her own eyes wide as he stretches her slowly.  
  
“You feel fucking amazing.”  
  
She rests one hand on Harry’s chest and the other on his shoulder, leaning forward so she can rock against him slowly and get used to his size.  
  
“Phil, babe, remember... oh, fuck. If I embarrass myself, just remember how I made you come twice, okay?”  
  
She laughs and he feels her muscles clench around his cock.  
  
He steadies her hips as she moves over him slowly, then digs his fingers in and urges her to move faster, harder.  
  
“Eager,” she breathes, straightening up so she can get the leverage she wants.  
  
“Thought you were going to fuck me senseless,” he teases. She throws herself into the challenge, riding him harder and scratching gently at his chest.  
  
“My nipples,” he says, grabbing her wrist and directing her hand where he wants it the most.  
  
“What do you want, Harry?” she asks, brushing his nipple gently even as she slams down hard onto his cock.  
  
“Pinch them?” he asks, returning his hand to her hip. He’s bucking up into her now, matching her rhythm and fucking up into her desperately.  
  
She doesn’t comment, just does exactly as he asks, switching between nipples and even paying attention to the smaller nubs beneath his pecs. She pinches, flicks, and watches Harry go wild for her, groaning and thrusting up hard as he comes beneath her.  
  
He’s laughing, flying, high as a kite as she falls to his chest, exhausted. He kisses her hair and strokes her back, rolling her gently to the bed when he feels himself start to slip out of her body. He takes care of the condom, hopping out of bed to dispose of it in her bathroom, and comes back to find her on her back, one hand playing between her legs.  
  
“Err, next time I’ll probably, last a bit longer,” he says apologetically, crawling into bed next to her.  
  
“No problem,” she says, her voice hoarse. “I was just... really close.”  
  
“Yeah?” he asks, brushing her hair away from her face. He kisses her tenderly, cups her breast, and then circles her nipple with a fingertip. “Mmm, that’s sexy.”  
  
His eyes are locked on hers as she starts to tremble. “Lovely, just lovely,” he murmurs, one hand sliding low on her belly. He doesn’t try to take over, or tell her what to do, just watches and kisses the swirls of ink on her shoulder as she whimpers through another orgasm. “Beautiful.”  
  
He tucks her under his arm and cuddles her close for a while, just lying quietly with her. Eventually she stretches like a cat, lifts up on one elbow, and kisses the corner of his mouth.  
  
“Hungry?” she asks.  
  
Harry is suddenly aware that he’s  _starving._  
  
“A bit, yeah,” he says. “Could go for some pizza?”  
  
“I’ll order one,” she says, draping herself over Harry to lean over the side of the bed. She reappears with a laptop and sets it on Harry’s stomach, sitting at his side before she opens it.  
  
“What do you like?”  
  
“Bit of everything,” Harry says. They pick something out from the menu of her local shop and she hops out of bed to use the loo and call the order in.  
  
“Be right back,” she says, kissing his nose.  
  
He turns the laptop so he can see the screen, looking at the rest of the menu idly. He wants to look up the details of the house he saw--the one he’s itching to buy as soon as possible--so he searches for the property.  
  
He doesn’t  _mean_  to look at her search history--it just sort of pops up when he starts typing--but he laughs out loud when he sees it.  
  
 _Harry Styles  
One Direction  
One Direction concert  
Harry Styles smile  
Harry Styles videos  
Harry Styles Shirtless  
How am I supposed to act like a bloody professional in front of Harry fucking Styles?_  
  
He assumes the last one was a rhetorical question.  
  
“Thirty minutes,” Phil announces, picking up Harry’s t-shirt from the floor and slipping it on. He snaps the laptop closed quickly and sets it back on the floor. “What shall we do while we wait?”  
  
“I believe you said something about fucking you in the kitchen?” Harry says, palming his cock as it starts to grow again.  
  
Phil’s eyes grow wide as Harry gets hard in a matter of seconds. “Oh, Harry,” she says, a twinkle in her eye, “you’re going to be fun.”


	2. Chapter 2

Phil’s just getting ready for bed at eleven o’clock when she hears a knock at the door. She glances at her Kindle (loaded with a new erotic novel by her favorite author) and her vibrator (fully charged and ready to go), sighs, and shrugs a robe on over her cotton vest and knickers.  
  
“Bollocks,” she mutters, hurrying to the door as the knocking gets louder. She peers through the peephole and is surprised to see the most famous mop of curly hair in Britain on the other side of her door.  
  
She hasn’t seen Harry since the morning after their little tryst; she honestly never expected to see him again, except on TV and in the papers. He’d been sweet that day, fucking her slowly and thoroughly once more in the early morning, then sticking around for breakfast before leaving her with a kiss on her cheek and a “See you soon, yeah?”  
  
He knocks again, startling her away from the peephole, and she manages an “Alright, just a second,” as she fiddles with the locks. She’s not sure how she feels about this; she doesn’t want to turn into a regular booty call for a teenage pop star, but... maybe just one more time, since the sex was so fucking phenomenal.  
  
“Hey, babe,” he says, as soon as she cracks the door open. He’s obviously pissed, but still fairly adorable. Any resistance she feels is immediately and completely disarmed by his dimples.  
  
Phil grins and reaches for the hem of his t-shirt. “Look at you, showing up at my door like a lost...”  
  
Her voice trails off when she notices the very famous ginger standing off to Harry’s right.  
  
“Oh, hello,” she stammers, pulling her robe tighter across her chest.  
  
“This is my mate, Ed,” Harry says, pointing at the bloke.  
  
“So nice to meet you,” Phil says, opening the door wide. She reaches out to shake his hand, probably too effusively, and mumbles that she’s a “huge fan. Huge. Really, really big fan.”  
  
Harry raises an eyebrow at her, seemingly amused. “Oh, so you are capable of having a proper reaction when you meet a pop star?”  
  
Phil slaps him playfully and then realizes she’s standing in her nightclothes with two famous people in the hallway of her apartment building. She likes to be a bit less conspicuous most of the time, so she ushers them both into her flat.  
  
“What are you boys out doing tonight?” she asks, leading them into her kitchen. Harry smirks and runs his fingers over the smooth wood of her kitchen table, staring at Phil lasciviously as he licks his lips. She blushes, remembering their late night kitchen sex the week before, and turns to Ed.  
  
“We were down the street at a club, but some paps showed up,” Ed explains, pulling an iPhone out of his pocket. “We left out the back entrance, thinking we’d get a few blocks away and call someone to pick us up, but both of our phones are dead. Haz said he had a friend who might have a charger we could use.” He holds up the phone and shrugs his shoulders.  
  
“I don’t have an iPhone--will the one from my iPod touch work?” she asks, moving to the junk drawer.  
  
“Should do,” Ed says, following her. He takes the plug she offers and fits it into his phone, then plugs it into a socket on the counter. Harry is staring at her the whole time, undisguised lust in his eyes, and she’s having trouble looking at him.  
  
“Um, would anyone like a drink?” she asks, turning to open the fridge.  
  
Harry’s behind her in a second, pressed too close against her backside, under the guise of looking over her shoulder.  
  
“What are you offering?” His voice is a low rumble, the tone thicker and slower because of the alcohol he’s already consumed, and it makes her shiver.  
  
“I’ve got beer?” She elbows Harry away, embarrassed that he’s putting the moves on her in front of Ed fucking Sheeran, and offers Ed a bottle. “Think maybe you’ve had enough already,” she says to Harry, opening a second bottle for herself.  
  
Harry pouts but doesn’t deny it; instead he opens her cupboard, pulls out a drinking glass, and fills it with water from the tap.  
  
“Uh, how do you two know each other?” Ed asks.  
  
“Phil here is my estate agent!” Harry says seriously, before taking a long gulp of water. Phil tries not to watch the muscles in his throat moving as he swallows, but she can’t look away.  
  
“Oh really?” Ed asks, looking back and forth between the two of them skeptically. “Thought your estate agent was an old bald man?”  
  
“He’s one of them,” Harry says, with a shrug.  
  
“Right.” Ed smirks and looks like he’s about to question them further, but his phone makes a little trilling sound as it comes back to life. He turns to it scrolls through some notifications before looking back at Harry. “I’ll call a taxi then?”  
  
“Sure,” Harry says, eyes locked on Phil. He takes another sip of water, then licks his lips. She’s not sure if he’s just come here to tease her while they wait for a cab, or if he’s waiting for an invitation to stay.  
  
“Five minutes,” Ed says, hanging up the phone and interrupting their eye-sex. “Do you mind if I use your loo?”  
  
“Course, it’s just there,” Phil says, pointing him in the right direction.  
  
As soon as the bathroom door clicks shut, Harry’s in front of her, pressing her up against the fridge door.  
  
“You’re gorgeous,” he whispers, burying his face in her neck. “Mmm, y’smell good, too.”  
  
“Oi,” Phil chastises, pushing him away. “Your friend’s just in there.”  
  
Harry grins. “He won’t mind.”  
  
Phil shakes her head and forces herself to break contact with the green eyes that stop her from making rational decisions. She notices the rectangular outline of his phone in his skinny jeans and reaches out to trace it with a fingertip, very aware of how close she is to the outline of something else.  
  
“Do you want to charge your phone as well?”  
  
Harry reaches into his pocket and pulls his phone out, lighting it up with the touch of a button. “Would you look at that? Look’s like the battery’s not dead after all,” he says, eyes sparkling.  
  
“You’re bad,” Phil hisses, but she’s not able to keep the smile off her face.  
  
Ed rejoins them then and Phil crosses the room, putting some distance between herself and Harry so she can think clearly. Ed unplugs his phone from the charger and swallows the last of his beer, then sets the bottle in the sink.  
  
“Thanks, Phil, really great to meet you,” he says, shaking her hand.  
  
“You, too.”  
  
“Haz?” he asks, stepping towards the door.  
  
“Err, I think I might stick around just for a bit,” Harry says, tousling his hair. “Maybe throw the paps off if we split up.”  
  
Ed just chuckles. “Alright, mate. You kids have a good night.” Phil shows him to the door, mumbling again how lovely it was to meet him, and then closes the door softly. When she turns back to the flat, she finds Harry digging through her cupboards.  
  
“Do you have any Frosties?” he calls out, as he examines and promptly discards some healthier options.  
  
“No, I haven’t got any Frosties,” she says, making her way back to him. “Is that why you came by tonight? Hungry for kids’ cereal?”  
  
“No!” Harry protests, letting the cabinet door slam shut. “I was just, you know, in the neighborhood, and fancied seeing you.”  
  
“Seeing me?”  
  
“Mmmhmm.” Harry tugs at the sash to her robe, pulls it loose and then slides a hand underneath. “All of you, hopefully,” he teases, squeezing her waist.  
  
“You’ve been a bad boy,” she teases, letting the robe fall off her shoulders and pool at her feet. “You lied to your friend.”  
  
“Just a little white lie,” Harry mumbles, leaning in to kiss her cheek. “He got what he needed, he’s fine.”  
  
“And what do  _you_  need?”  
  
Phil gasps as Harry slips his cold fingers underneath her vest and trails them lightly over her stomach.  
  
“Think I need to make you,” he whispers, kissing the corner of her mouth.  
  
“Make me?” she asks, her voice wavering a little.  
  
“Mmm,” Harry hums, kissing her bottom lip. “Y’know. Make you come... make you laugh... make you so tired that you sleep through my snoring all night.”  
  
Phil wiggles out of his arms and steps away, earning a questioning glance from Harry. She backs away, towards her bedroom, and holds out her hand so he knows to follow.  
  
“C’mon then,” she says. “Don’t make me wait.”  
  
Harry is eager, taking Phil’s hand and rushing ahead of her so  _he’s_  the one pulling  _her_  into the bedroom.  
  
“Need to get those knickers off you immediately,” he murmurs, pulling her in close when they reach her bed. He wraps his long fingers around her waist, lifts her slightly and throws her back on the bed. She giggles and allows Harry to manhandle her; he lifts her legs up and rests them on his shoulders, then reaches down and slides her cotton pants up over her legs.  
  
He lifts each ankle in turn, pulls her knickers off, and tosses them to the floor. “Fuck,” he breathes, looking down at her; bare from the waist down, her own hand underneath her vest, teasing her nipples. “Jesus, you are so sexy.”  
  
“Get your kit off and get down here,” she says, pulling her legs down and scooting back on the bed.  
  
Harry scrambles to comply, pulling clothes off haphazardly and making Phil laugh when his head gets stuck inside his t-shirt. He sticks his tongue out at her and undoes the heavy silver wristwatch on his left arm. It must be special, because it’s the only thing he doesn’t throw over his shoulder; instead he sets it gingerly on her nightstand.  
  
“What’s this then?” Harry asks, his eyes wide. He holds up the vibrator Phil had set aside earlier, when she thought her night was going to end quite differently.  
  
“Well I don’t have an international superstar to satisfy me  _every_  night,” she teases, reaching to snatch it out of his hand. Harry pulls it away, though, holds it out of her reach, and examines the little toy. It’s a deep purple color, about four inches long, with an extra white plastic bit at the end; the control mechanism looks like a little plus sign, and it reminds Harry of a video game controller.  
  
“Seems a bit small,” he says, his free hand sliding down his chest to squeeze his prick.  
  
“Hmm... not the size that matters in this instance. Come here,” she demands, patting the bed beside her. Harry jumps in, still clutching the vibrator, and Phil pulls him in for a kiss. He groans when she scratches his back lightly and pulls him on top of her.  
  
Phil spreads her legs a bit so Harry can settle into the cradle of her hips, then tilts her head back so he can kiss her neck. She giggles as his curls tickle her chin, then opens her eyes to find that Harry’s hand is resting on the bed, his fingers still clutching her vibrator.  
  
“You can put that down, you know,” she says, tapping the back of his hand.  
  
“Hmm... was thinking maybe we’d switch it on,” he suggests, rolling off to the side. He curls up against her and kisses down her inked arm, dragging his tongue over a swirl of deep blue. “Wouldn’t mind seeing why you ladies are so keen on these things.”  
  
Phil raises an eyebrow; Harry continues to surprise her at every turn, with his maturity, his open mind, and his kindness. He’s a fantastic lover for someone so young; hell, he’s a fantastic lover, full stop.  
  
“Alright then,” she says, lifting up so she can pull her vest off over her head. She settles back against the pillows and takes the vibrator from Harry, showing him quickly how the controls work; one for intensity, and one that allows the user to cycle through different patterns of vibrations. “Start with it on low.”  
  
He takes it from her and switches it on, then moves to position it between her legs.  
  
“Can tease me with it first,” she says, even though her body is already straining in anticipation. “Here, or here,” she says, taking his hand and dragging it over her stomach and up to her breasts. He circles the head of the vibrator around her left nipple, then switches to the other side and replaces the toy with his mouth.  
  
“Jesus, Harry,” she murmurs, winding her fingers in his curls.  
  
“What else?” he asks, his hand drifting back down as he looks up into her eyes.  
  
“You can... fuck, just gently, at first,” she cautions, spreading her legs and tilting her hips up for him. “Sometimes I use lube, but um... I don’t think I’ll need it, tonight.”  
  
“Yeah?” he asks, stroking her open with just his middle finger first. “Fuck, you’re wet. Love your pussy, babe, it’s heaven.”  
  
Harry uses the toy to trace the same path as his finger, just stroking her gently with the bare minimum of vibrations. She shudders when he circles her clit with it, and Harry bites his lip. “That feel good?”  
  
“Mmmm, yeah,” she says. “You can go inside, too.”  
  
Harry teases her some more, making little figure eights over her slick skin, before pushing just the tip of the toy inside. “Can I turn it up a bit?”  
  
“Just a little,” she says, trying to push down to get the toy deeper inside her. Harry sits up, though, and presses one hand flat against her belly, holding her down. He fucks her with just the tip, the slight vibrations concentrated right at her entrance, and she whimpers. “Are you sure you haven’t done this before?”  
  
“Never,” Harry says with a grin. Phil thinks that he must be one of those bloody geniuses that’s good at everything he tries; she’d be bitter about it if she weren’t directly benefitting from Harry’s talents. “Show me what you do.”  
  
Her hand only trembles a little as she takes over controlling the toy. “It’s good for this,” she says, pushing it a little deeper inside. “The g-spot, you know?”  
  
“Yeah?” he asks, settling back down at her side so he can watch closely.  
  
“Yeah, feels so good to let it sit right here,” she explains, switching the cycle to one that throbs rhythmically, then turning up the speed again. “Fuck, Harry. Fuck.”  
  
“Jesus, you’re all flushed and we’ve just started,” he says, kissing her shoulder. “Look like you’re about to come.”  
  
“Touch my clit, touch me,” she demands, pushing Harry’s hand between her thighs. “Said you were gonna make me.”  
  
“Fuck,” Harry whispers. He leans up to kiss her as he circles her clit with two fingers, swallowing her moans as she bucks against his hand. The sensations are overwhelming--the vibration against that perfect spot inside her, Harry’s soft fingertips putting just the right amount of pressure against her clit, and his tongue invading her mouth--it’s all too good, and she falls apart in seconds, fingernails digging into Harry’s shoulders as she clings to him throughout.  
  
“Bloody amazing,” Harry says, pulling back as she relaxes into the pillows again. “Okay, I see what you girls are on about now.”  
  
“Still feels good,” she says, fucking herself with the toy slowly.  
  
“Let me.” Harry bats her hand away, takes over fucking her, and then pulls the toy out and drags it up to her clit again.  
  
“Yes, Harry, yes. Right there. Turn it up.”  
  
“You want more?”  
  
“Fuck, yes. More.”  
  
“You’re so lovely like this, all horny and squirmy,” he says, obviously delighting in her flushed chest and writhing hips. “You gonna come again? Already?”  
  
Phil wraps both arms around Harry’s neck and whimpers helplessly as he circles the head of the vibrator around her clit; it feels amazing on her own, but having Harry in control makes every sensation seem sharper, more intense.  
  
“Don’t fucking stop,” she manages to stammer, before her muscles all tense and she comes again. Her vision goes white and she feels nothing but pleasure, can barely even hear the dirty words pouring out of Harry’s mouth as he watches her.  
  
She clings to Harry even after her body starts to calm, feeling shaky and overwhelmed. He strokes her side languidly, until she relaxes back into the pillows and smiles up at Harry.  
  
“Why do you  _ever_  leave the house?” Harry asks, incredulous.  
  
Phil tosses her head back and laughs.  
  
“No, seriously, if you can do that all on your own, why would you ever need a bloke?”  
  
“Well, it’s more fun with a bloke, first of all,” Phil explains, pushing a stray curl out of Harry’s face. “You can do more things. Sex, for example. Kissing.”  
  
Harry ducks down and kisses her soundly, as if he’s agreeing.  
  
“And to be honest,” she continues, pushing at Harry’s chest until he rolls onto his back, “it isn’t usually quite that good when I’m alone. It’s a bit more... perfunctory.”  
  
“So what you’re saying is, it’s really me that made you come so hard your eyes rolled back into your head, and not that bit of plastic?”  
  
“Fifty-fifty,” Phil agrees, kissing Harry’s collarbone.  
  
“Sixty-forty?” Harry pushes her hair back over her shoulder as she kisses down over his abs, then groans when she nuzzles into the soft trail of hair leading down to his groin.  
  
“Getting a bit full of yourself,” she teases, bypassing his straining erection to kiss down his thighs.  
  
“You missed a bit, just there,” Harry gestures to his cock, but Phil just smirks and trails kisses down his legs, his strong calves, all the way to his feet.  
  
“There’s something to be said for anticipation.”  
  
Harry whines and wraps his hand around his prick when she takes her time kissing back up the other leg. She giggles and licks a path up his thigh before batting his hand away.  
  
“Mine.”  
  
“Jesus, yes,” Harry moans, threading his fingers through her hair as she pulls his cock into her mouth and swirls her tongue around the tip.  
  
Giving head has never been Phil’s very favorite activity, but Harry certainly makes it entertaining. He’s quite loud, and his normally low, gravelly voice goes rather high-pitched when she drops down to lap at his balls.  
  
He’s oddly thoughtful, too, despite writhing about in pleasure; if he finds himself pulling too tightly on her hair he’ll relax his grip and rub her scalp soothingly. She doesn’t mind a bit of hair pulling, but finds it cute that he’s so aware of making her comfortable.  
  
“Brilliant,” he says, his palm cupping her cheek as her head bobs up and down. “Feels perfect, feels so good.”  
  
“You gonna come, Harry?” she asks, pulling off his cock to catch her breath. She keeps the pace with her fist, though, stroking him firmly, and Harry’s hips are starting to thrust up to meet her.  
  
“Want to... God, want to fuck you,” he says.  
  
“Later, you can fuck me later,” she promises, looking up into his eyes as she licks a wet stripe up the underside of his cock. “I want your come in my mouth, now.”  
  
“Oh my  _God_ ,” Harry moans, his long fingers cupping the back of Phil’s neck as she sucks him deep into her mouth. He’s gripping the sheets with his free hand, shuddering as she looks up into his eyes and hums around him.  
  
He manages to grunt out a “Gonna come, babe,” before letting go; Phil swallows hard so the taste of him doesn’t linger too long in her mouth, but a drop manages to escape and cling to her bottom lip.  
  
She shimmies up his body, leaving his softening cock twitching against his belly, and curls into his side.  
  
“Right, just... here,” Harry murmurs, wiping the jizz from her lip. She grabs his wrist to hold it steady and sucks his thumb into her mouth with an exaggerated moan. “Fuck, don’t do that, my cock’s trying to get hard again. I need a minute.”  
  
Phil giggles around his thumb and he pulls it away slowly, brushing over her lip before his hand falls away. She leans in for a kiss and is surprised when Harry kisses her forcefully, licking into her mouth.  
  
It’s bad enough that the boy’s adorable, talented, and hung; must he be so sweet and open about sex, too?  
  
“Right,” Harry says, kissing down her jaw. “You said something about fucking you later?”  
  
“Good God, man, it’s been  _one_  minute!”  
  
Harry shrugs, unapologetic.  
  
Phil wriggles out of his hold and hops out of bed. “I have to go to the loo, then we can do anything you’d like.”  
  
“Anything?” Harry asks mischievously.  
  
“Well, anything within reason. Draft a proposal, I’ll let you know what I think when I get back.”  
  
“Excellent,” he says, covering a yawn.  
  
Phil takes an extra moment in the loo to brush her teeth and double check that she’s current with her birth control pills; condoms only work so well, and she’s not ready to be the mum of a teenage celebrity’s love child.  
  
When she pads back into the bedroom she finds Harry asleep, clutching her pillow to his chest. She climbs into bed and tugs her pillow free, earning a grumble of protest from Harry.  
  
“Goodnight, Harry Styles,” she whispers, snuggles back against him.  
  
“M’gonna fuck you tomorrow,” Harry murmurs, throwing a heavy arm over her waist. Phil giggles and nods in agreement.  
  
“Tomorrow.”


	3. Chapter 3

Phil winces the second she opens her eyes; she forgot to close the curtains last night and early morning sunlight is streaming through her window.  
  
She curls up and buries her face in the pillow, willing herself to go back to sleep, but a soft groan from the other side of the bed reminds her that she’s not alone.  
  
Suddenly  _very_  awake, Phil tugs the sheet up and tucks it under her arms, rolls over to face her guest, and gasps.  
  
“Jesus, Harry.” He’s stretched out, naked and tanned and gorgeous with one arm tucked behind his head. His free hand is wrapped around his cock, stroking it lazily, his erection full and thick.  
  
“Morning,” he purrs, low and lazy.  
  
“Bit creepy, isn’t it?” Phil teases, stretching her arms up over her head and letting the sheet fall down to her waist. “Lying here, wanking behind my back while I slept.”  
  
“I was going to wake you up eventually.” Harry shrugs. “I just couldn’t decide.”  
  
“Decide?” She reaches out and circles his nipple with a fingertip, then lays her palm flat over his chest.  
  
“What I want to do. You said anything I want...”  
  
“Before you fell asleep on me,” Phil says, slapping him lightly.  
  
“Oooh, careful, I might like that,” Harry teases. He hasn’t taken his hand off his prick, and Phil’s starting to get jealous. She lets her hand inch down his chest, mapping the the little hills and valleys of his abs.  
  
“Did you decide, then? What you’d like to do? Bet it’s filthy...” she scoots closer and sucks at his nipple, letting her fingers tease the base of his cock.  
  
“Thought of loads of filthy stuff,” Harry admits. “But I’m all sleepy and comfy and I sort of just want to fuck you again.”  
  
Phil laughs and tilts her head up to kiss his jaw. “I’m alright with that.”  
  
“Right,” Harry says, determined. “Over on your other side, then.”  
  
He’s all business, rolling her over and stretching a long arm over her body to grab a condom from her nightstand. Phil lets him arrange things as he wants them, and smiles when he kisses just below her ear and asks if she’s comfortable.  
  
Then he’s all curled around her, one arm tucked under her neck and the other hanging over her waist. Their legs tangle together and Harry touches her softly, gently, until she’s too impatient and reaches down to guide his cock inside her.  
  
“Oh, God,” Harry breathes, his warm breath tickling the back of her neck. He pushes in slowly, his hand flat against her belly, and drops kisses down her shoulder. “That’s just... fuck, just fucking perfect. Let’s stay like this all day.”  
  
“Think we might need to move eventually,” Phil warns, slipping her hand past Harry’s to rub her clit, dragging a finger along each side.  
  
“Right. Moving.”  
  
Phil sighs when Harry pulls out, and then pushes inside again, his movement slow and controlled. He lifts his arm so it’s wrapped around her body from underneath, then squeezes her affectionately as he mouths at her neck.  
  
“Babe,” Harry whispers, smoothing his hand over her thigh. “Can I ask you something?”  
  
“Sure,” Phil says, biting her lip. She’s suddenly certain that he’s going to give her a promise ring and ask her to be his girlfriend, or something equally absurd--the situation now seems far too intimate, and Phil is kicking herself for not seeing it earlier.  
  
“D’you think I can fuck you ... you know, up the arse?”  
  
She can’t help it--she bursts out laughing, turning her head to muffle some of the noise in her pillow. To his credit, Harry doesn’t stop moving, but he does huff and puff a bit about being offended.  
  
“It’s not funny, you know,” he teases, pinching her bum. “You can just say no.”  
  
“No, no, it’s fine. You’re just being all sweet and cuddly, and giving me tender little kisses, and then...” Phil gasps, trying to catch her breath from laughing so hard. “And then you ask me if you can fuck my arse!”  
  
“Always stereotyped because of my love of cuddling.” Harry sighs heavily, feigning sadness. “Ask anyone, ask my mates, I cuddle with everyone. I don’t do  _this_  with everyone, though.” He makes his point with a sharper thrust, squeezing Phil’s waist to brace her as he picks up his pace a bit.  
  
“Mmm,” she moans, reaching behind her to grab a handful of Harry’s curls. “That’s good. Right there, Harry.”  
  
“So that’s a no, then? Just for the record?” he asks, his lips brushing her ear.  
  
“Oh, I didn’t say no. We could have a lot of fun with that.” Phil cranes her neck a bit to catch Harry’s delighted grin. “Not today, though. Another time.”  
  
Harry’s quiet then, paying more attention to her neck, and Phil thinks he’s going to drop the subject.  
  
“Like when? I feel I’ve got to get these details hammered out.”  
  
“I don’t know,” Phil sighs, pretending to be annoyed. She’s circling her clit with her finger now, interrupting her rhythm occasionally to reach down and press two fingers against Harry’s cock. “Next week, maybe?”  
  
“I’m going to America next week,” he says. He bites her shoulder, as if in protest, and Phil giggles.  
  
“Well, when you get back, then.” Her breath is coming faster now, and Harry picks up on the change.  
  
“Yeah,” he says, shifting his hips so he can get deeper. He reaches up to cup her breast, pinching and pulling at her nipple. “Fuck, you’re going to come, aren’t you? You go so red, right before...”  
  
“Yeah, I’m close,” she says.  
  
Harry thrusts hard and pushes her forward; she thinks he’s trying for a change of position, but then he rolls them back quickly.  
  
“Use this? Please?” he says, pressing her vibrator into her hand. He’d snatched it from the nightstand and turned it on low.  
  
“Bloody sexy genius,” Phil mumbles, turning up the speed and pressing the tip of the toy just below her clit.  
  
“Fuck, fuck, I can feel it,” Harry gasps, his rhythm faltering.  
  
“Harry, just... I’m coming, just fuck me hard, and don’t stop, okay?” Phil gasps, rocking into the vibrator, relying on Harry to keep them connected.  
  
Her orgasm hits her fast and hard, but Harry fucks her through it. She tries to pull her hand away when it gets to be too much, but Harry holds it firmly in place, not letting her escape the sensations.  
  
Even after he comes (biting down hard on her shoulder, muffling his cries), he takes the vibrator from her and pushes it inside, fucking her with it until he’s hitting the right spot. Her last orgasm leaves her a melty, shivery mess, with a wide smile on her face.  
  
Harry disposes of the condom and cleans them up a bit, then lies down with his head at the foot of Phil’s bed.  
  
“You gonna make me breakfast?” he asks, nudging her shoulder with his foot.  
  
“No, you can make me breakfast, though.” She lifts her leg delicately and rests her foot on his chest, wiggling her toes. “Or we can take a nap. It’s a bit early to be awake.”  
  
“This is why we get along so well,” Harry says, kissing her big toe. He wiggles out from her hold and spins around to snuggle her. “Your love of sleep.”  
  
“And orgasms.”  
  
“Yes, the orgasms, too,” Harry concurs, tucking her under his arm. “Mustn’t forget those.”


	4. Chapter 4

Harry scratches his temple, trying to stay focused on what his financial advisor, Marcus, is saying.  
  
He knows he has to deal with the money that’s piling up, but the thought of it is a little overwhelming. He’s been managing it mostly on his own, with his mum’s help, but finally he’s decided to bring in an expert. This sort of “business lunch” still feels awkward, but it’s not all bad.  
  
“Have a good time in the States, feel free to email or give us a ring if you have any questions,” Marcus says, shaking Harry’s hand briskly.  
  
“Yeah, thanks mate,” Harry agrees. Marcus leads the way towards the front of the crowded restaurant, but Harry sees a flash of blue out of the corner of his eye that makes him stop in his tracks. He claps Marcus on the shoulder and tells him, “I’ll catch up with you soon, then. Just going to say hi to a friend.”  
  
He winds through the tables, ignoring the looks he’s getting from other patrons: raised eyebrows and scowls from the ones who don’t recognize him, wide eyes and dropped jaws from those who do. He hadn’t noticed Phil, who’s been sitting just twenty feet away from him, until she shrugged off her cardigan; the bright ink on her arm stood out amongst the grey suits and beige sweater sets at every table.  
  
“Phil?” Harry croaks, approaching her table. The woman eating lunch with Phil drops her salad fork and gasps--she  _definitely_  recognizes him. Phil’s cheeks go a bit red but she maintains her composure.  
  
“Harry, good to see you,” she says, reaching out to shake his hand.  
  
Oh, so that’s how we’re going to play it, Harry thinks.  
  
He shakes her hand politely, but strokes her wrist with his middle finger before she can let go. “So glad I ran into you, actually,” he says, biting back a chuckle when she snatches her hand away. “I wanted to follow up with you about our last, uh, meeting.”  
  
“Of course,” Phil jumps in. “Harry’s been looking for a new home,” she explains to her friend. “Oh, how rude. Louisa, this is Harry. Harry, this is my sister-in-law, Louisa.”  
  
Harry turns his attention to the stammering brunette. “Lovely to meet you,” he says, grinning down at her.  
  
“I, um... I...” she stammers. “Daughter! I have a daughter!”  
  
Harry isn’t phased; he’s heard this before.  
  
“How old is she?” he asks, laying his palms flat on the table and leaning in a bit. He was always good with mums when he was dating their daughters; now that he’s at this weird age where the daughters  _and_  the mums fancy him, it’s even easier.  
  
“Fourteen,” Louisa answers, eyes locked on Harry’s. “Err, no, fifteen. She’s fifteen. She’s a huge fan of your, um, music.”  
  
“Cool, sounds like she has good taste. You think she’d like an autograph?” Louisa practically squeals, then reaches for her purse and whips out a notepad and pen. “What’s her name?”  
  
“Margaret. Meg. Err, no, wait, she’s having all the girls at school call her Margo now,” she explains. Harry scrawls out a quick message, even draws a heart and a few x’s, watching Phil out of the corner of his eye the whole time.  
  
She’s just... fuck, she’s just so  _cool_. She’s sipping her tea, a tiny smile on her face, so obviously aware that Harry’s trying to wind her up and giving zero fucks about the whole production. He can’t get enough of her--especially because she’s so calm and buttoned up in public, and so absolutely free and fucking sexy when they’re alone.  
  
“Tell her I send my love,” Harry says, closing Louisa’s notebook and handing it back to her. She tucks it away in her handbag and thanks Harry again and again, but he’s given up trying to charm her and only has eyes for Phil.  
  
“So about that, uh, business we discussed,” he says. “I’m going to America for a few weeks, so I won’t be available for... meetings, but I could call you?”  
  
“Sure,” Phil says, reaching into her bag. She pulls out a crisp white card and a pen, scribbles something onto the back of the card, then hands it to Harry. He has to duck out of the server’s way when he appears with their entrees.  
  
“I’ll ring you, then?” he asks, wishing he could just take her back to his flat right now.  
  
“Looking forward to it,” Phil says, smirking.  
  
He waits until Louisa’s back is turned and then blows Phil a kiss.  
  
He doesn’t look at the card until he’s home; he programs her mobile number into his phone and then flips the card over to read her message.  
  
 _Cheeky!  
xx  
Phil  
(now you’ve got my autograph)_

* * *

  
He texts her nearly every day; usually just a picture of something cool or bizarre from America, or one of the lads being silly.  
  
Sometimes he says filthy things, like  _Want to lick your pussy til you scream, love_ , or  _Miss your gorgeous tits, wish I had a picture_.  
  
She sends him a picture.  
  
The first time he calls her, he’s lying in his bunk on the tourbus.  
  
“Hey,” she answers, her voice sleepy but enthusiastic enough.  
  
“Did I wake you?” Harry asks. He’s conscious that telephone conversations on the tourbus are rarely private; he has to speak up to be heard of the hum of the engines, and the lads could easily listen in.  
  
“Sort of, I think I was just starting to drift off,” she admits, quickly adding, “but it’s not too late, and I’m glad to talk.”  
  
“You sure? You could always tell me to bugger off.”  
  
“No, no. It’s good to hear from you,” she assures him. “Figured you’d call for a bit of phone sex one of these days.”  
  
Harry chuckles, but he doesn’t admit the truth--that he’s really just homesick and a bit stir crazy from being cooped up with the boys.  
  
“What are you wearing, then?” he asks, picturing her fluffy, warm bed with soft sheets and an unnecessary number of pillows.  
  
“Hmm... sexy answer or honest answer?”  
  
“Sexy answer.”  
  
“Ahh, then I’m wearing a black lace negligee,” she says, making her voice all raspy.  
  
“Changed my mind. What’s the honest answer?”  
  
“An old, threadbare Manchester United t-shirt and a pair of yoga pants that have never seen the inside of a yoga studio.”  
  
“ _Manchester_ ,” Harry snorts. “Thought you were a Leeds girl?”  
  
“I don’t particularly care for the team, just the shirt,” she says, giggling. “It’s so soft. An old boyfriend left it here and I never bothered to return it.”  
  
“I suppose it would be ... inappropriately possessive for me to say that I want you in  _my_  t-shirt,” he says, grinning as he imagines her eyes rolling.  
  
“You mean a t-shirt that you’ve worn, or one with your face on it?” she teases. “Or better, one with all five of you cuddled together like puppies?”  
  
“I still don’t understand your opposition to cuddling.”  
  
Phil laughs, and Harry rolls to his side, hugging his pillow to his chest.  
  
They talk until her answers are just soft, sleepy noises, until he can picture her long eyelashes fluttering closed.  
  
“I’ll let you sleep, babe. Goodnight,” Harry tells her.  
  
“Mmm... but we didn’t have phone sex,” she mumbles, clearly half asleep.  
  
“Next time,” Harry promises. “Goodnight, love.”  
  
“Goodnight, Harry.”

* * *

  
Harry paces the hotel room, adrenaline still rushing through his system.  
  
He’s already called his mum and his sister. Of course they’ve already heard the news via twitter, and by the time he reaches them,they’re already worked up. Harry ends up comforting  _them_  instead of the other way round.  
  
The thing is--as nice as it is to speak to the people that know him well, it didn’t really help. He’s still... he’s still feeling a bit scared.  
  
The lads understand more than anyone, he thinks, but Liam’s locked in the room next door with a panicky Niall. Zayn and Louis have missed the entire incident--they’re out on a double date with their girlfriends, dinner and a film, and won’t be back for hours.  
  
He calls Phil because--fuck, he just needs someone calm to speak to, someone who will listen and not freak out and--he just needs to speak to someone calmer than he is right now.  
  
“I’m thinking I ought to change your ringtone,” she purrs, answering the phone without a formal “hello.” “Maybe a Take That song or something.”  
  
“Heh. Sure, babe,” Harry says, pulling at the neck of his t-shirt. He strips it off with one hand, pulling the phone away from his ear for only a second.  
  
“What’s wrong?” Phil asks, concern evident in her tone.  
  
“Uhhh... something happened?” Harry says, unbuckling his belt. He shoves his trousers down, kicks them off, and then climbs into the big, cold hotel bed.  
  
“Okay,” Phil says. “Want to tell me about it?”  
  
God, she’s calm.  
  
Thank fuck.  
  
“Yeah,” Harry says, pulling the covers up. “Yeah, I do.”  
  
“I’m here, Harry,” she says, softly.  
  
“Well, uh, Niall and I wanted to go to this shop across the street from the hotel,” he admits. “We were just after some snacks, y’know? And they’ll go out and get whatever we want, but we’ve been in the hotel doing press all day and we just wanted to... get out for a minute, you know? See daylight?”  
  
“Yeah, that makes sense.”  
  
“Security didn’t want us to go, because Louis and Zayn have their girlfriends in town and they all went out--so security’s just a bit thin tonight--but we convinced them we’d be fine with just one bloke. And we  _were_  fine, we went out a side door and made it to the shop, picked out a bunch of junk food, and we were on our way back within ten or fifteen minutes.”  
  
“Okay,” Phil says, her voice calm and measured. Harry takes a deep breath and scoots down lower in the bed, burrowing into the covers.  
  
“On our way back, though, there were fans. Like... out of nowhere, the same door we had just used was completely blocked with like, a hundred girls. And we’re used to that, you know? Used to the screaming and all that... but usually now there are barricades, or a car to jump into, or more people to protect us. I know they’re just  _girls_  and most of them don’t mean any harm, but just the sheer numbers...”  
  
“Anyone would be frightened in that situation. Teenage girls are abysmal--I should know, I was one.”  
  
“I bet you were lovely,” Harry says, distractedly. “But yeah, I mean, Niall’s always scared--he hates crowds and all that. Mark--he’s the bloke from security--had an arm around both of us, but then someone started to tug on Niall’s arm and he froze up. Mark had to let go of me to pull the girl off Niall, and...”  
  
“What happened, Harry?” she prompts, after he’s silent for too long.  
  
“Well, I feel a bit... pathetic, I guess, even complaining about it. And it wasn’t a big deal,” Harry says, suddenly regretting his decision to call the beautiful woman he’s fucking in his moment of weakness.  
  
“Maybe, maybe not. I’d like to hear it, though,” she assures him.  
  
“Mark was helping Niall, and we were still about, I don’t know, three metres from the door, and the girls just started to grab me,” he says, shuddering a bit at the memory. “Not just like... I mean, people try to touch us all the time. Girls always want to hold our hand or get a hug or a kiss, and people ask all the time, and it’s not a big deal. I mean... it shouldn’t be a big deal, right? It’s part of our job. But these girls tonight... they were just so  _aggressive_ , and some of them were pulling at my clothes and pulling my hair and it  _hurt_...”  
  
“Oh Harry,” Phil whispers. “They have no right. No right to do that to you.”  
  
“It’s just... it’s the first time I’ve really been frightened, in a really long time,” Harry rasps, horrified to feel tears pooling in the corners of his eyes. “I guess--I mean, it was probably only a few seconds--but it felt like I was never going to get out of there.”  
  
“I’m so sorry that happened,” she says, honest but not overly mushy. “Are you somewhere safe now?”  
  
“In my hotel room, yeah. By myself.”  
  
“Do you need someone to be with you? Maybe one of the other boys?”  
  
“No, no, I’m fine. I’m fine.”  
  
“Sweetness...”  
  
Harry covers the bottom of his phone before he sniffles and wipes the tears from his cheeks.  
  
“Is there anything else? Did anything else happen, Harry?”  
  
“No, no. It’s just...” He closes his eyes, trying to figure out a way to say what’s really bothering him, and Phil waits patiently. “I just hate this feeling. I do  _everything_  for them, I take pictures every bloody day, and they shove cameras and cell phones in my face, and I smile and say “hi” to their sisters and friends and cousins, and sometimes I get so fucking  _sick_  of it that I want to scream. But I can’t. I mean, it would be totally ungrateful to even complain.”  
  
“Harry, there’s a difference between posing for pictures and being assaulted.”  
  
“Yeah, I suppose,” Harry says, rolling to his side so he can hug an extra pillow. “It just feels like an extension of the same thing, though. Like... like my body doesn’t belong to  _me_  anymore.  
  
Phil’s quiet, humming while she thinks. “You should get a tattoo,” she proclaims.  
  
“I’ve already got one.”  
  
“Get another one. Get a hundred. Getting a tattoo will remind you that you’re the one in control of  _you_ , babes, even when it doesn’t feel that way. Trust me.”  
  
“You must’ve felt out of control a lot,” Harry says, picturing the ink that covers her left arm, from her shoulder to her elbow; the lyrics on her back, the blackbird on her right shoulder. Of course, thinking about her ink makes him think about all of her smooth, pale, uninked skin, and he feels his cock stir despite the emotional topic of their conversation.  
  
“Constantly,” she mumbles.  
  
“Will you tell me?” Harry asks.  
  
“What do you want to know?”  
  
He takes a moment to consider his response; their conversations have mostly been about sex, music, food. They haven’t ventured into deeper territory before tonight, and Harry’s not sure what the rules are now.  
  
“Why did you get your first tattoo?”  
  
“Well... I used to be a dancer, believe it or not. Ballet. I was quite serious about it--moved to London when I was 16 to take dance classes full time and all.”  
  
“I believe it,” Harry says, picturing the way she moves, the way she points her toes and twirls around the room while she’s gathering up the clothes he ripped off her the night before.  
  
“The thing is, I was pretty good. Good enough to get into the Royal school, good enough to go to classes with the best students in Britain. But I was never one of them--one of the best. I was a little too tall, a little too curvy.” Her voice gets softer, a little more wistful as she talks. “I  _loved_  dancing with all my heart, Harry. I went to school to perfect my skills, but the teachers were only interested in perfecting my body.”  
  
“For the record, I think your body is amazing,” Harry says. He’s politely ignoring his erection at the moment, but a part of him is still thinking about naked Phil.  
  
“You’re such a charmer,” Phil teases. “I’m pretty okay with it now, but when I was sixteen and seventeen... I used to say that I bordered on having an eating disorder, but now that I think back on it, I’m pretty sure I fit the bill.”  
  
“Wow,” Harry drawls. “I can’t imagine. I’m so sorry.”  
  
“It’s fine, now. It was a rough patch, but now I do my best to eat healthy food most of the time and ignore the scale.”  
  
“What made you stop?”  
  
“I met up with a girlfriend from Leeds one day--she was in London going to uni, and she invited me to lunch. I think it was mostly hearing her talk about her classes, and boys, and parties--thinking that I could have a future that didn’t involve dancing--that made me take back some of the control I’d been missing. Getting the first tattoo was a final ‘fuck off’ to my teachers, after I’d decided to leave the school. They were strictly forbidden, so I caused quite a scandal showing up to class with a milkshake in my hand and a blackbird on my shoulder.” Phil laughs at the memory, and Harry laughs too--he can picture her staring down a row of ballerinas, cool and confident.  
  
“So that was the first?”  
  
“It was. It’s still my favorite. Represents... possibilities, I suppose.”  
  
“Mmm. So what do you think I should get?” Harry asks, tracing his star tattoo with one finger.  
  
“Anything you like, love. It doesn’t matter what it is, just something that will remind you that you’re Harry fucking Styles, and no one can take that away.”  
  
“Come for a visit,” Harry blurts out, before thinking his words through. That’s something their families do, and their girlfriends--not their occasional-fuck-buddies-slash-conversation-partners.  
  
“Oh, sweetness, I can’t do that,” she says, amused. Harry thinks she sounds just a little bit sad, too. “Can you imagine the press?”  
  
“Yeah, I know,” Harry groans. There’s a sudden pounding on his door, the unmistakably loud, urgent knock of one Louis Tomlinson, and Harry jolts upright in bed. “Hey, I think I have to go. But... thanks. For everything.”  
  
“No problem, Harry. Call me some other time and I’ll talk dirty to you, okay?”  
  
“Okay,” Harry says, snorting with laughter.  
  
“Harry Edward! Open this door!” Louis yells, still knocking obnoxiously.  
  
“Goodnight, Harry.”  
  
“Goodnight,” he says, blowing her a silent kiss. He switches off his phone, jumps out of bed, and runs to open the door.  
  
“Good God, man, don’t make us wait so long,” Louis says, pushing into the hotel room and dragging Zayn behind him. “We just heard about what happened, mate. Are you alright?”  
  
“Yeah, I’m okay,” Harry says, telling the truth this time. Louis hugs him anyway, really tight just the way Harry likes it, and Zayn pats his head and tugs at his curls just a little. “We should go check on Nialler though.”  
  
“Yeah, okay,” Zayn says. He’s out of the room first, but Louis hangs back, clinging to Harry’s wrist.  
  
“You’re really okay, Hazza?”  
  
“Yeah, Louis. I’m fine. Gonna get a new tattoo tomorrow, though. Need you to think of something crazy.”  
  
“Brilliant!” Louis squeaks, jumping from one foot to the other. “What do you want?”  
  
“Doesn’t matter,” Harry says, smiling as he thinks of Phil’s words.

* * *

  
Phil calls while Harry’s eating dinner in a hotel suite with Josh, Niall, and Liam one night. He lets the call go to voicemail at first, planning to call her back later, but his phone vibrates again almost immediately.  
  
Harry stands up and runs into Niall’s bedroom before he answers. “Hey, you alright?”  
  
“Are you alone?” she asks, in the low, throaty voice she only uses when she’s turned on.  
  
“Sort of,” Harry says, wincing at the crystal-clear sound of the boys’ voices on the other side of the door. “Not really.”  
  
“Can you  _get_  alone?”  
  
 _Fuck_ , Harry thinks, pressing his palm flat against his rapidly hardening cock. Niall’s going to eat the rest of his dinner if he leaves now, but, well, he’d be an idiot to turn this call down. He can always order more room service.  
  
“Yeah, babe. Give me two minutes.”  
  
“Okay,” she breathes. “I’ll try to hold off.”  
  
“Did you start without me?”  
  
“You have no fucking idea,” Phil answers.  
  
“Hold on. Two minutes. Fuck, one minute.”  
  
Harry slides his iPhone into his pocket, careful not to disconnect the call, and untucks his shirt in an attempt to cover his erection.  
  
“Gentlemen, I’m off, have some things to take care of,” he announces, trying to walk purposefully towards the door of the suite.  
  
“What the hell, mate? Thought we were having a tournament?” Niall asks, gesturing to the X-box someone had set up in the room.  
  
“Tomorrow? Err.. yeah. Something came up.” He lets himself out, closing the door to Niall and Josh’s protests, and jogs down the hall to his own room. “Hey, still there?” he asks, tucking the phone under his ear as he fumbles for his keycard.  
  
“Really, Harry? Something  _came up_?” Phil teases.  
  
“Fuck yes,” he admits, letting himself into the room. “Tell me what’s got you all worked up, yeah?”  
  
“Well, I was watching the telly and The Wanted were on, and they’re just sooooo dreamy--”  
  
“Bit old for your taste, aren’t they?”  
  
Phil giggles, and Harry has to bite his lip to stop himself from laughing, too.  
  
“In reality, I was in a sex shop today--”  
  
“You dirty girl!” Harry gasps, feigning shock.  
  
“Shut it, I was there to get some jokey things for a hen party,” she explains, “but then I thought about the last time you were here.”  
  
“Yeah?” Harry’s stripping off awkwardly with one hand, unwilling to put the phone down and miss a second of what she has to say.  
  
“Mmhmm. Remember what you said? What you said you wanted to do with me?”  
  
“Course I do,” Harry tells her, kicking off his boxers. He crawls into the big bed and flops back against the pillows. “Said I wanted to fuck that sexy arse of yours, and you thought that was an excellent plan.”  
  
He sort of expects her to tease him again, but she moans instead.  
  
“Yeah,” she says. “Want you to.”  
  
“Fuck, Phil. What’d you buy?” Harry tugs at his cock a little, playing with the foreskin, and sighs as it starts to glide smoothly over his shaft.  
  
“A plug,” she says. “A little pink plug. I thought--thought maybe I’d save it for when you come round again, and I could use it to help, you know, get ready.”  
  
“But you couldn’t wait?” Harry asks, cupping his balls and rolling them gently.  
  
“No... got so turned on working it in, thinking about you doing that to me.”  
  
“Jesus,” Harry swears. His eyes are closed tightly, his mind trying to conjure up the image of exactly what she must look like right now. “How big is it, babe? Is it as big as I am?"  
  
“Fuck. No, it’s smaller.”  
  
"How much smaller? Tell me.”  
  
"It’s like... like two fingers, maybe,” she says, her breath coming faster. She moans again and Harry’s cock twitches--he wraps his hand around it and squeezes.  
  
"So I'm going to have to use more fingers to stretch you? Get you ready for my cock?" He can picture it, picture pulling the bit of plastic out and filling her up with his fingers, watching her hips snap back against his hand.  
  
"Fuck, Harry, oh God,” she cries.  
  
"Tell me how it feels?” Harry asks, sounding more desperate than demanding.  
  
“Good, just... full, and tight. Gonna be so tight when it’s you, when it’s your cock.”  
  
“Jesus.”  
  
“I’m getting so close, Harry. God.”  
  
“What else are you doing? Got a hand on your clit, yeah?”  
  
"My vibrator..."  
  
"Love that thing,” Harry mumbles, stroking himself faster at the memory of using it with her. “I'd fuck you with it, Phil. Fuck you with that vibrator while my cock is in your arse. Do it for me now, yeah? Try it?" Harry’s voice is thick with want, but more urgent than it usually is; he doesn’t hesitate in telling Phil exactly what he wants.  
  
He knows when she's done it because she starts talking so fast he can’t understand her, a jumble of moans and curses and deep, gasping breaths.  
  
"Does it feel good? Do you feel full?”  
  
“Yeah... yes, Harry, yes.”  
  
“Maybe you want my cock there instead--want me to fuck your tight pussy while that plug’s in your arse?”  
  
“Oh fuck,” she stammers. “Harry, I’m coming.”  
  
“You're so gorgeous when you come. So lovely. Don't stop, okay?" he murmurs, picturing her flushed chest, her curled toes, her writhing hips. When her whimpers start to die down he encourages her: "Don't stop now, babe. Rub your clit... Yeah, there you go. God, you sound so fucking...”  
  
Harry’s voice becomes a low growl as his own orgasm overwhelms him; his hips buck up uncontrollably, forcing his cock through his tight fist; he groans as he spills all over his hand and his belly.  
  
It takes at least three minutes before either one of them can speak coherently.  
  
“I was reading this article online the other day,” she finally says, her breathing under control again, “about you lads being so popular in America because you’re so clean-cut and innocent.”  
  
Harry throws his head back and laughs.  
  
“If only they knew.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains discussion of M/M sex acts and Harry's somewhat fluid sexuality. If you're not into that, you may want to skip this chapter.   
> Special appearance by Nick Grimshaw.

Phil is at a bar with her friend Sharon, listening to a couple of dull solicitors try to chat them up, when her blackberry lights up.  
  
 _John: You awake?_  
  
She grins, snatches her phone up from the bar and texts back quickly.  
  
I _t’s eleven o’clock! I’m not a grandmother, of course I’m awake. I’m at a very posh bar doing cool, trendy things._  
  
“What about you, Phil?” One of the solicitors asks. Gary? Albert? Something like that.   
  
“Hmm?” Phil asks, still peering at her Blackberry as she waits for a reply. Her friend Sharon elbows her discreetly and Phil finally looks up. “So sorry, just responding to a client.”  
  
“Must be quite a demanding client,” Gary-or-Albert says, and Phil has to swallow her laughter.   
  
“Indeed,” she says, eyes flickering back down to her phone.   
  
_John: Which bar?_  
  
She moves to answer, but Sharon grabs her arm and tugs. “Let’s go to the loo,” she whispers. “Excuse us, gentlemen,” she says sweetly to the men they’ve been chatting to.   
  
Shaon pulls her through the crowd, and Phil lets herself be led. She clutches her bag underneath her right arm and keeps a tight grip on her phone, her reply window still open. There’s a short queue outside the ladies’ room, so she taps out the name of the bar and sends it quickly.  
  
“Oh no, no, no. You are _not_ going to abandon me!” Sharon hisses. “This happens all the time now. You get a secret text from 'John'--which, by the way, is ridiculous. At least make up a fake surname to go with the fake first name! He texts you and you go all giggly and then you disappear and I have to try to smooth things over with the man who’s been flirting with you all night.”  
  
“First of all, that’s happened maybe one or two times,” Phil argues, keeping an eye on her phone for a reply. “And you’re a grown woman. You can handle two blokes on your own.” She wiggles her eyebrows and Sharon laughs despite herself.  
  
“Ugh, not these two. They’d bore me to death,” she admits.  
  
“Maybe we ought to go out the back,” Phil suggests, pointing to an emergency exit past the toilets. “We could go back to mine and fall asleep on the sofa watching telly.”  
  
Sharon looks tempted, but shakes her head. “I haven’t been properly laid in months. Even one of those horribly dull bastards is better than nothing. Not all of us have secret boyfriends,” she says pointedly.   
  
“He’s not my boyfriend,” Phil protests. They reach the loo and go in together, locking the door behind them. Phil tries to explain while they take turns using the toilet and freshening up quickly in front of the mirror. “He’s just a good friend, with a busy schedule. I’m not going to drop everything to follow him around like a lost puppy, but when he’s in town and we can connect... well, it’s too good to pass up.”  
  
Sharon side-eyes Phil from her position in front of the mirror. She finishes dabbing on some lip gloss and then asks, “So he’s married, then?”  
  
“What? No! Not at all. Just quite busy.” Phil pats at her forehead with a dab of powder and snatches Sharon’s lip gloss, dabbing a bit on her own lips.  
  
“Is he a footballer?” Sharon keeps guessing as they leave the loo and walk back towards the bar. Phil shakes her head, a small smile on her face as her friend keeps trying to guess. “A criminal? A prince? Oh, I’ve got it, it’s a girl! Right on, Phil. You don’t have to hide that from me.”  
  
Phil laughs, but doesn’t deny any of it. She shrugs her shoulders and Sharon pushes her back in the direction of the boring solicitors, still guarding their seats. She’s just about to sit down when her phone lights up again.  
  
 _John: Just leaving a club round the corner. Want me to stop and pick you up? Desperate to lick your pussy right now._  
  
Phil sways on her feet.   
  
_John: Be outside in 2 minutes._  
  
“I’m afraid I have to leave,” Phil says, trying to look sad instead of desperately aroused. “Bit of an... err... contract emergency. Lovely to meet you both.” She kisses Sharon’s cheek and strides towards the door, ignoring her protests and Gary-or-Albert’s request for her phone number. She reaches the front door and steps out into the street just as a big black vehicle rounds the corner.  
  
It rolls to a stop and the rear window comes down.   
  
“There she is,” Harry says, sticking his head out the window. “Always punctual, that Phil.”  
  
“Shut it,” Phil says, a smile on her face despite the teasing. She steps towards the car just as the door behind her opens.  
  
“You forgot your coat, slag,” Sharon says, stepping out into the cold to wrap it around Phil’s shoulders. Phil feels Sharon’s fingers tighten when she looks up to see Harry Styles smiling at them from the window of a large SUV.  
  
“John?” Sharon squeaks.  
  
“No,” Harry says, frowning before he gives a little wave. “I’m Harry.”  
  
“Bugger,” Sharon whispers, in awe.   
  
“Is your friend coming, too?” Harry asks, looking over at Phil.  
  
Sharon nods excitedly, her chin on Phil’s shoulder now.   
  
“No,” Phil says. “Absolutely not.”  
  
“Fine,” Sharon huffs. She kisses Phil’s cheek. “Go have fun, love. I’m going to need all the details now, obviously, but that can wait for tomorrow.”  
  
“You won’t say anything to anyone else?” Phil asks, turning to face her friend.  
  
“I swear,” Sharon promises, holding up her right hand. She spins Phil around and slaps her on the bum. “Now get out of here before the paparazzi show up and fall in love with me and turn me into a media darling.”  
  
Harry disappears from the window as he scoots further into the car, and Phil opens the heavy door and climbs in. She waves goodbye to Sharon and relaxes as the car finally starts to move.  
  
“That was a disaster,” she mutters, flopping back against the cool leather seat.   
  
“I thought it was brilliant,” a deep voice says from over her shoulder. She startles a bit and turns to find Nick Grimshaw curled up in the third row of seats.  
  
“Jesus,” Phil whispers, holding a hand to her chest.   
  
“We have to drop Nick off,” Harry says, reaching out for Phil’s hand. “He’s a bit pissed.”  
  
“M’not pissed,” Nick protests, lifting his head. “Just a bit tired since I was up at bloody five a.m.”  
  
“And pissed, since you had seven shots of tequila, in addition to that blue drink Pix gave you,” Harry points out. He reaches over the back of the seat and pats Nick’s leg affectionately. “It’s alright, Nick. We’ll get you home and you can sleep it off.”  
  
“Sleep _you_ off,” Nick mutters, but his hand curls around Harry’s wrist and he strokes it affectionately.   
  
Phil raises an eyebrow at that, looking from their entwined hands up to Harry’s face. He just shrugs, shakes his head to sort out his curls, and lets Grimmy hold his hand as they make their way to Primrose Hill.  
  
When they reach Grimmy’s house, Harry has to help him out of the car.  
  
“Stay here,” he tells Phil. “Might be paps about.”  
  
She watches as Harry supports Nick, helps him cross the garden, and opens the front door for him. Nick hugs Harry goodbye--a very affectionate hug that goes on a bit longer than one would expect--and then shocks the hell out of her by kissing his forehead.  
  
Harry doesn’t seem shocked at all, just ruffles Nick’s hair and jogs down the steps, cracking his knuckles as he makes his way back to the SUV. He hops in and scoots closer to Phil immediately, eyes bright and cheeks flushed from the cold.  
  
“Y’alright?” he asks, tracing the top edge of her black leather boot. “Almost home. I’m still quite... hungry.”  
  
“I think I have some carrots at my house,” she teases. Harry leans in and buries his face against her neck, breathing in deeply. She feels his lips moving against her skin.  
  
“Don’t want carrots,” he says, his hand inching up her thigh.  
  
She slaps his hand away, nodding toward the driver of the SUV, and Harry just grins.   
  
“He doesn’t care.”  
  
“ ** _I_** care,” Phil argues. She untangles herself from the lanky boy and scoots closer to the door.   
  
Harry leans in close enough to whisper into her ear. “Good thing we’re almost home, because I don’t really want Jack to hear me beg for your pussy.”  
  
“Cheeky,” Phil says, turning to face the window so Harry won’t see how much he’s made her blush.  
  
They reach his house in a few minutes, and Harry thanks the driver profusely before sliding out of the SUV. He comes round to Phil’s side to open her door for her, wraps a hand around her waist as she slides out of the massive vehicle.  
  
“Such a gentleman,” she says, fluttering her eyelashes. Harry responds by dropping his hand to her arse and squeezing it as he leads her into the house.  
  
He’s quiet as he moves through the first floor, kicking off his shoes and putting on lights. Phil’s only been here a few times, and it always strikes her as funny; it’s a beautiful home, professionally decorated in a tasteful mix of classic furniture with modern touches, but it’s still evident that a teenager lives here. An upside-down skateboard rests on an Eames chair in the living room; a pile of shopping bags occupies the floor under a huge and rather expensive Tracey Emin piece that hangs on the wall.   
  
“C’mon,” he says, tugging her towards the stairs. She follows him up to his master bedroom--quite simple and clean compared to the rest of his house. He brought an armchair here from his mum’s house, and it sits next to a bookshelf in the corner. There are framed picture on the top shelf--Harry’s family, some friends, even a candid photo of the band with their arms round each other. Phil finds it endearingly normal.  
  
She backs up to his bed and feels the soft gray sheets brush the bit of bare skin between the hem of her dress and the top of her boot. Harry stalks forward tugging his own shirt off over his head. Phil reaches back for the zipper on her dress, but Harry pushes her back onto the bed before she can reach it.  
  
“Not even going to let me get my kit off?” she asks, grinning as Harry drops to his knees in front of her.  
  
“Nope,” he says, pushing her dress up over her hips. She wiggles a little, lifting her arse so he can get the fabric out of the way. “No time. Besides, I like these boots.”   
  
His hands curl under her knees and slide down over her calves, stopping at the ridiculously high heels. “Mmhmm. Gonna need to fuck you like this, want those wrapped around my waist.”  
  
“Fuck,” Phil says, falling back to the bed. She feels Harry’s hair tickling her inner thighs, his warm lips trailing kisses up from her knees.   
  
“I love this,” he says, tracing a circle over the thin strip of fabric between her legs. “Seeing how wet your knickers get.”  
  
“I know you do, you little pervert,” she teases, combing her fingers through her hair. “I seem to always end up missing a pair when you’re around.”  
  
“You can have them back if you want,” Harry says, pulling the fabric to one side. He strokes her gently with one finger, teasing and working her open. “They’re in my chest of drawers. I always wash them after I wank in them.”  
  
“In them like... into them? Or in them like wearing them?” she asks.   
  
“Mmm, you’ll never know,” Harry replies, working a finger inside her carefully. “Feels good?” he asks, his breath still hot against her skin.   
  
“Yeah, fuck,” she sighs. Phil combs her fingers through his hair as he starts licking at her gently, little kitten licks to warm her up.   
  
“Harry,” she whispers hoarsely. “God, fuck, Harry. Stop teasing.” She knows he’s not teasing, not really--that some blessed woman at some point in his life had taught him the virtue of a slow build-up--but she’s been dying for this since she got his first text message tonight.  
  
She gasps when Harry moves suddenly, lifting her and pulling her closer to the edge of the bed. He tugs one leg over his shoulder and pushes the other back with his hand, leaving her more open and exposed than she’d been before. She only feels the cool air for a second before Harry is back between her legs, licking her in long, firm stripes before fitting his mouth around her clit.  
  
“Jesus,” she moans, lifting her hips to meet him.   
  
Harry finds a rhythm, his lips and tongue and fingers working her over while she writhes and moans on the bed. She manages to pull the front of her dress down along with the cups of her bra, and she keeps one hand tangled in Harry’s curls while the other pinches and pulls at her nipples.   
  
It’s amazing, definitely enough to make her come if he keeps it up, but she doesn’t want to come like this. Harry’s fingers are clever, but she hasn’t seen him in weeks and what she really misses is his cock.  
  
He fits inside her perfectly, like no man or silicone device ever has. She’s tried to find a dildo that’s the right shape, for those long stretches of time when Harry’s on tour and she needs to feel full, but it’s never the same.  
  
“Harry,” she gasps, lifting up on her elbows. “Harry, stop.”  
  
He pulls back immediately and looks up at her, eyes wide and dark. His mouth is shiny-wet and his hair a mess--he looks debauched and beautiful.  
  
“Stand up, love,” she says, pushing him away with the toe of her boot. He rises gracefully and she sits up to reach for his trousers.  
  
“Wanted to feel you come,” he mumbles, but doesn’t protest as Phil pulls his skinny jeans down over his arse.   
  
“We can do that later,” she promises. “Need your cock right now.”  
  
“‘S yours,” he says, ducking down to kiss her passionately. Phil sucks at his tongue and then pulls back to nibble on his pouty bottom lip.   
  
“Up on the bed,” she says, standing up and patting the duvet. Harry kicks off his trousers and his pants and then climbs into bed, flopping down in the center. He strokes his cock as Phil swiftly unzips her dress and pulls it up and over her head. She reaches for the zipper on her boot and Harry makes a sad little noise.  
  
“Leave them?” he asks.  
  
Phil rolls her eyes but leaves the boots. She slips off her bra and then pushes her knickers off over the boots, balancing carefully to pull them off over each foot.  
  
She snatches a condom from Harry’s nightstand and kneels on the bed, condom in one hand and knickers in the other.  
  
“I’ve missed you,” she says fondly to Harry’s cock. He snorts and laughs, but Phil shuts him up by leaning down to suck the tip into her mouth. She strokes him roughly and then pulls off, satisfied that he’s sufficiently hard. She smooths the condom on and leans up to kiss Harry.   
  
“Still want to taste me?” she asks, looking down into his eyes. He nods and leans up to kiss her again, but Phil sits up. She holds her lacy black knickers up for Harry to see and rolls them into a ball; she does it slowly, purposefully, so Harry has time to protest if he wants to.   
  
Instead he just says, “Yes, please, fuck.”  
  
Phil tucks the knickers into his mouth, making sure the bit of fabric that’s still wet is right on his tongue. Harry groans and his eyelashes flutter. She likes his voice and loves his dirty talk even more, but it is totally worth the silence to see Harry getting off on this.  
  
She throws a leg over Harry’s body and settles on top of him, making sure her leather boots are pressed right up against his skin. When she guides his cock inside her in one long, slow push, an embarrassingly loud moan escapes her lips.  
  
“God, you feel so good. You just feel so fucking good,” she mumbles, circling her hips to feel him move inside her. “Fuck, could just sit like this with your big cock inside me and rub my clit, I would come so fast, Harry.”  
  
He grumbles at that, trying to speak through the fabric in his mouth, and Phil laughs.   
  
“Or not,” she concedes, lifting up slowly and savoring the drag of his perfectly-shaped cock inside her. She loves fucking him like this, slowly so she can feel every inch of him. Her hands roam his flat stomach and smooth chest, tracing the new tattoos and circling each of his nipples.  
  
When she starts to ache, though, when the tension in her belly feels like it’s too much, she starts to move faster. She knows Harry wants it, too, when he wraps his hands around her waist and urges her on, helping to lift her up and pull her back down. His moans and groans are muffled by the knickers, but she knows by the flush on his chest and the way he’s thrusting up to meet her that he’s close, too.  
  
He drops one hand down between them and rests a finger on either side of her clit; it’s exactly what she needs, and she starts to tighten around him immediately. She comes with a hoarse cry, her head thrown back and one hand gripping Harry’s, grinding down against his cock and his hand.   
  
She slumps down against his chest for a few seconds, breathless, but is aware of Harry still very much hard and straining beneath her. She lifts up, her hands flat against his chest, and kisses his cheek. “Want me to take those out?” she asks, raising an eyebrow and reaching for her knickers.  
  
Harry turns his head away from her hand, then shakes it quite clearly.  
  
“Want me to fuck you until you come with my knickers in your mouth?” she asks again, nipping at his jaw.  
  
“Mmmmmm!” Harry agrees.  
  
“God, you’re lovely,” she says, rolling her hips down against his. She finds the right angle for him, one that lets him hold her hips steady and fuck up into her desperately, quickly. It doesn’t take long until he’s crying out, clutching at her hips and her arse and coming so hard that his eyes roll back into his head.  
  
Phil rolls off him, exhausted, and falls onto her back. Harry is boneless, his limbs splayed and hair slicked to his forehead with sweat. Phil reaches up to push it back, then tugs at the bit of lace hanging from his mouth. He grins sheepishly when she pulls her knickers out and tosses them to the floor, but Phil just presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth. She reaches down for the condom and tugs it off, then tosses it into the little trash can beside the bed.  
  
Harry pulls her close for a soft, sweet kiss, and then he crawls to the end of the bed. He unzips Phil’s boots, stroking the bare skin he exposes as the zippers slide down. He takes them off one at a time, tosses them to the floor, and then makes himself comfortable at the foot of the bed. He pulls each of Phil’s feet into his lap and massages them carefully, stroking the arches with his thumbs.   
  
“So who’s John?” he asks eventually, wiggling each toe from largest to smallest.  
  
“John?” Phil asks, confused.   
  
“Your friend, at the bar--she thought I was John?”  
  
“You are,” Phil grins. “In my Blackberry. Don’t really fancy anyone getting a hold of it and realizing who I’m texting.”  
  
“Oh,” he says, switching to her other foot. “Right, well done.”  
  
“Not jealous, are you?” she asks, tucking one arm underneath her head.  
  
“Not jealous,” Harry says, his face open and honest. “Okay, maybe one percent jealous.”  
  
“I’m the one that ought to be jealous,” Phil says, pulling her foot away and beckoning Harry to come back up. She cuddles up to him and traces each of his new tattoos with a finger. “I’ve turned you into a tattoo monster,” she murmurs.  
  
“Mmm,” Harry says, arching into her gentle touch. “Yeah, all your fault, really.”   
  
“Wait, why should you be jealous?” he asks, after she’s finished touching the new ink.  
  
“Your friend? The hipster DJ?” she says pointedly.  
  
“Nick?” Harry seems surprised.  
  
“He quite obviously fancies you,” she says. “Be careful not to lead him on.”  
  
Harry grins. “It’s not like that with Nick,” he says.  
  
“I’m pretty sure he’s gay,” she says. “And you’re... well, you’re bloody _you_ , and everyone who fancies boys fancies you, so...”  
  
“He’s gay, yeah, but he’s not like, in love with me,” Harry explains. “He’s not a big fan of relationships or being tied down. Being tied up, now, that’s a different story.”  
  
Phil snorts.  
  
“So nothing to be jealous of there,” Harry says, kissing her forehead. “We just fool around sometimes, it’s nothing serious.”  
  
She waits a beat, to see if he’s joking, and then lifts her head from Harry’s chest. He looks sleepy and satisfied, not gleeful like he does when he’s taking the piss.  
  
“You fool around? With Nick?” she asks, eyes wide with surprise. She knew she wasn’t Harry’s only partner, but after witnessing firsthand his absolute love of pussy, the thought of his other partners being blokes never crossed her mind.  
  
“Mmmm,” Harry nods, looking down at her hesitantly. “A couple of times.”  
  
“Like... like silly drunken making out?” Phil can picture that, the way Harry is so easy with his affection, all cuddly even before he has a drop of liquor.   
  
“Sometimes...” Harry says, stroking Phil’s arm with the backs of his fingers.   
  
“Sometimes?” Phil is tentative, not wanting to pry, but desperate to know the details. “And other times? What else do you do?”  
  
“Just, you know... _things_ ,” Harry says, shrugging his shoulders. Phil lifts her head and kisses his chest. “Why? D’you think it’s like, weird?”  
  
“No,” she says, dropping kisses over his collarbones and up his throat. “I think it’s hot.”  
  
Harry grins. “You do?”  
  
“Mmm, yes. Love seeing two guys together,” she says, pulling his head down for a long kiss. “And I think it’s sexy how open you are, how you just do what you like without being too uptight about it. It’s really sexy.”  
  
Harry shifts them around so Phil is on her back and he’s pressed against her side; he strokes her chest and her stomach, avoiding her breasts even when she arches her back. “You’re amazing, y’know?”  
  
“So these ‘things’ you do with Nick,” Phil says, grabbing Harry’s wrist and pushing his hand down between her legs. “Can you tell me? Or--I mean if you feel like that would be violating his trust or something...”  
  
Harry pats her thigh, encouraging her to spread her legs wider, and pushes a finger inside her easily. “I don’t think he’d mind me telling you that I sucked his cock.”  
  
Phil’s jaw drops and her mind floods with images. Harry on his knees, Harry with a man’s hand in his hair, with his lips stretched wide for a cock. “Jesus,” she whispers. “Did you like it?  
  
“Yeah, it was good,” Harry tells her, kissing the swirl of blue ink on her arm as he works a second finger inside her. “Bit hard to figure out how to do it without, y’know, gagging.”  
  
Phil giggles. “I know, right?”  
  
Harry smiles against her skin and curls his fingers inside her, dragging them out slowly before pushing back inside. “I reckon I did alright.”  
  
“Did he come?”  
  
“Yeah,” Harry breathes.  
  
“Then you did alright.” Phil sneaks a hand down to join Harry’s, rubbing lazy circles around her clit while he thrusts slowly with his fingers. “Did you... did he come in your mouth?”  
  
Harry tilts his head up so his lips brush against her ear and whispers, “Not the first time.”  
  
“Fuck,” Phil gasps, tilting her hips and pushing against Harry’s hand. Her hand falls to the side and her fingers twist in the bedsheets; Harry drags his thumb up to press against the side of her clit, moving over it slowly and rhythmically.   
  
“Bet you’d like to see that, wouldn’t you? Watch me suck a cock?” he asks, his voice low and gravelly. “I love that you’re getting off on this.”  
  
“Everything about you gets me off. Christ,” Phil breathes. “What else? What else did you do with him?”  
  
“He sucked me off, too,” Harry tells her, scraping his teeth over the cord of her neck. “Put his fingers inside me. Made me come _so hard_.”  
  
Phil closes her eyes tight when she comes, one arm thrown around Harry’s neck clutching him close. He doesn’t stop touching her until she whimpers and pushes his arm away, too exhausted and oversensitive to try to come again.   
  
Harry’s half hard against her hip, but his eyes are hooded and he doesn’t seem to want anything more; by the time Phil’s caught her breath he’s half asleep. She rolls out from underneath his heavy arm and tiptoes to the loo; on her way she realizes the air is quite chilly, so she peeks into his drawers until she finds one stuffed full of t-shirts.   
  
She picks one at random and pulls it on over her head, then pads into the loo. When she flips the light on and peers into the mirror she cackles, laughing loudly at her reflection. She uses the toilet and washes her face, then slips back into Harry’s bedroom.   
  
“What’re you laughing at?” he asks, lifting his head from the pillow.   
  
“Just this lovely t-shirt I found in your drawer,” she says, pulling it taut and spinning so he can see it from all angles. It’s a One Direction t-shirt, with the band’s logo and a smiling picture of all of the boys right in the center.  
  
“Oh, God,” Harry says, chuckling as he falls back and nuzzles into his pillow.   
  
“No, I think it’s cute that you have it,” she says, looking down and stroking the picture of Harry. “You look so young, though.”  
  
Harry lifts up the duvet and Phil crawls into bed, snuggling up to him and warming her feet on his calves.   
  
“It’s the first one,” Harry mumbles, tugging at the sleeve. “The first t-shirt we ever had.”  
  
“It’s sweet,” she says, kissing his cheek as his breathing turns deep and even. “Goodnight, Hazza.”  
 **  
**

**Author's Note:**

> Please note, any similiarity to any Phils you may know is merely coincidental. Except for the bit where she's cool and sexy. That is v. much like a Phil I know. :)


End file.
